Position of Power
by disturbinglyprofound
Summary: "You're a blood traitor," she told him. "You're a Gryffindor. You're a Weasley." She looked disgusted with herself. Pansy/Ron. More UST, but it is resolved a bit in this one. :D


**Hi everyone. :D I haven't posted a one-shot in a while, so I've decided to do this one because, well, there are a lot of Panon lovers out there, and especially ones who've been pestering me about ****Intoxicating.**

**This one is a bit of a continuation to the previous (Intoxicating) - there are references to Intoxicating in it, so hope you enjoy!**

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**No, you're mistaken. I don't own any of this. Don't be silly, darling. I'm merely a writer, if that.**

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**Position of Power**

"Don't be ridiculous, mate," said Harry. He patted Ron's shoulder in what the redhead assumed was comforting, but it was a little too harsh to be reassuring. "It's only a job interview."

"I don't do well with strangers, Harry," Ron muttered, turning the corner. "You know that."

"I'm sure it won't be a stranger," Harry replied. "It'll be someone you're at least acquaintances with. Trust me, everyone at the Ministry knows everyone else. It's practically a job requirement now."

"I didn't know any of the people we shared that elevator with," said Ron, clearing his throat. They continued down a narrow corridor until they reached a brightly lit office space. There were purple interdepartmental memos flying about, people chatting animatedly with each other, and a disappointed Harry, who dropped his hand from his best friend's shoulder and sighed, dark hair obscuring Ron's view of his face, which was, undoubtedly, disapproving.

"Ron," Harry said finally, dodging a purple airplane. "I don't know what else I can say to make this better. All you need to do is summon up that Gryffindor courage and go –"

"This isn't Hogwarts anymore," Ron interrupted, frowning. "It isn't that easy."

"I _know –"_

"No you don't," he interrupted again. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. Everything's been easy for you."

"Those buggering tests to get into the Auror program weren't bloody _easy _at all –" Harry said defensively.

The door to the Interviews Office was suddenly in front of them. Emblazoned proudly on the nameplate was the name Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff who had been in their year. Both Harry and Ron sighed in relief. "See?" said Harry. "What did I tell you?"

"I – I suppose you were right," Ron answered, apologetic. "Sorry." His ears went a little pink. Harry grinned.

"I'll see you at lunch," he waved, darting back through the office to his shiny, widely-spaced Head Auror department a few floors above. Ron was stuck down here in Admissions, forced by his brother George to start looking for a real job instead of lazing about the Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes store. He supposed that had something to do with Angelina Johnson, who had taken to hang around there more often, and who probably wanted some alone time with his brother. She was nice, and rather pretty, but the thought of a girl with any of his brothers – or a boy with his sister Ginny – was too strong for his stomach.

Ron was applying for a position as Auror, and Kingsley, the current Minister, had instructed him to go through the same process all the others before him had done. He hadn't gone back to Hogwarts for his final year like Hermione had, and he supposed he should just be grateful that he was even being _allowed _to apply despite not having his NEWTs.

He knocked on the door, somewhat more confidently. Susan Bones was notorious for her sweetness, even for a Hufflepuff, and her giving personality. He hoped she would gift him the Auror job, because stale chicken pot pie wasn't enough for dinner these days.

"Come in," said a voice from within. It was a bit muffled, and he couldn't tell whether it was Susan or someone else. He entered the room quickly, shutting the door and turning his back to the woman at the desk.

_"Weasley?" _

At the sound of that familiar, screeching, awful voice, Ron whirled.

"_Parkinson?" _he yelped, his tone of voice more surprised than aggressive, as the woman's had been. What in the name of Merlin was _she _doing here? How was she, in any way, fit to be an interviewer?

Behind the desk sat one of the most irritating women he'd ever had the pain of hearing – or seeing – in his lifetime. Her green eyes were narrowed into slits, glaring and obviously retaining all of the rivalry that had been present during their Hogwarts days.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him. It was apparent that she wasn't going to even _pretend _that they were acquaintances.

"Dear Merlin," Ron moaned. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Shut up, Weasley – it's me that has to suffer!"

"– I took Ginny to her stupid Quidditch games in the middle of the night, I let Hermione go off with that prat Viktor Krum –"

"Granger's dating _Krum?" _Pansy said with amazement, momentarily distracted.

"– I did everything I possibly could to be a good person. Why am I stuck with this troll –?"

"OI!"

He jumped. "Why are you screaming?"

"Because you don't know how to shut up, you stupid blood traitor!" Pansy screeched. "Now sit down and let's get this over with!"

He reluctantly obeyed. They watched each other from over the table, neither willing to give in and attempt even a half-hearted smile. They glared at each other openly, nothing masking the contempt spelled out on each Pureblood's face. Pansy's piercing jade eyes were a deadly match to Ron's pools of blue. And that Weasley hair... She still found it so intriguing. She didn't know what it was.

"Why are you here?" she said, her jaw clenched.

"Well, _obviously," _he replied, sarcastically, "I'm applying for a job."

"Lose the sarcasm, Weasley, or I will kick you out of this office," hissed Pansy.

"Fine." He was contrite. But not apologetic. "What would you like to know?"

"Give me your resume." She snatched it before he could pass it over in a somewhat genial way. He watched her scan it thoroughly, critically, and wished he hadn't spilled that morning's coffee on his reference page. He had done it just after he realized he was late. And now she was going to make him pay for it. Well, he would use his lawyer connections (Hermione, of course) and sue the trousers off of this woman if she tried anything unfair, have her pay an outrageous fine and then smirk smugly at her like her former lover Malfoy.

From what he'd heard, Malfoy was romancing a string of women at the moment, none of whom happened to be Pansy Parkinson. Perhaps the woman was a little more on-edge because of that. He could relate, a little bit. Hermione had left him for Viktor Krum, only after asking if he'd be alright. He told her yes – and lied. He had cried into his pillow every night she spent with _Vicky _on her month-long trip to Bulgaria.

"Why don't you have your NEWTs?" Parkinson asked him, raising an eyebrow in triumph. She thought she had him. But he was ready.

"I was requested by the Minister himself to apply, with or without NEWTs," he replied casually.

She was undeterred. "You can't use any family members as references."

"If they're my employers, I can."

Miss Parkinson was beginning to lose her temper. "You can't _spill coffee on your resume _and expect to get a job," she said scathingly.

He blinked. He was nervous, there was no denying it. But the fact that this woman was asking all the questions Harry had told him she would ask was very helpful in staunching his anxiety. He pulled out his wand and waved it over the exposed reference paper. Almost instantly, it was clean, free of any visible stains.

"Anything else?" he said softly. It was nice to be in a position of power, for once. He had seen Harry do it, and of course Hermione, but taking the lead was making him a little heady. He liked it.

Parkinson looked absolutely livid. She stood from behind the desk, revealing to him the smart, slinky business robes she was wearing. They clung appealingly to every curve of her evil, conniving Slytherin body, hinting at but not quite revealing skin. The material was reminiscent of the gown she wore at the photo-shoot he had taken Ginny to.

Some Veela had ended up winning the competition, which he thought was supremely unfair, considering how beautiful Veelas were. Ginny didn't care. And Harry was happy – he didn't want other men ogling his girlfriend. But Ron had thought wistfully of Pansy Parkinson, in her red dress and windswept black hair. She would have looked beautiful on the cover.

He couldn't stop looking at her even now, in her simple clothes. She was curvaceous and very aware of it. She was pursing her lips at him, eyebrows furrowing, trying vainly to come up with some intelligent response to her question, but she was no Ravenclaw. Her specialty was piercing insults, one-liners that hurt, even if they were exaggerated.

She growled, _actually growled, _and he drew back.

Her hand reached for the stamp next to her pen and after grasping it in her manicured fingers, she punched the stamp of approval on the front page of his resume. Ron was surprised. He had been expecting more fight from the frosty Slytherin.

"You win, Weasley," she said quietly. "This time." It sounded like a threat, but he let it slide. He had just been accepted, after all. He couldn't kick her when she was down.

"Thank you," Ron said pleasantly. He was suppressing his real emotions – which were to climb to the roof and shout triumphantly – in favour of politeness. She scowled at him in response, clearly not going in the same direction.

"Take this," – she tossed him his papers – "to the front secretary. She'll attach a note for the Head Auror. And then you can go up to see him." She walked around the desk and approached the door. Just before her hand closed on the knob, she turned to look at him.

"Don't think this means anything, Weasley," she said icily.

"What –"

She had him pressed up against the door before he could even begin to finish his sentence, her hand pressing firmly against his tie.

"You're a blood traitor," she told him. "You're a Gryffindor. You're a _Weasley." _She looked disgusted with herself. Ron was still reeling from the shock. She breathed deeply, drawing herself up to her full height. She was quite tall, for a woman. And the heels she wore added extra stature.

"But you have beautiful hair."

Ron's face twisted into one of bewilderment, but not after Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin extraordinaire, notorious for her hatred of Gryffindors, blood traitors, and Weasleys, bore down on him like the Slytherin that she was, her hands in his hair, her lips on his, her leg between his effectively halting any movement to leave.

He was frozen. She didn't care.

It was a long, heated moment, and then finally, she let him go. She fixed her hair, trained those eyes on him, glowering again.

"Remember what I said," she muttered.

"What did you say?" he breathed, blinking dazedly.

The tiniest, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips for a millionth of a second, too quickly for him to notice, and she fingered his tie. Somehow, she would have to find a way to thank Susan Bones for being sick today, and for herself, for taking up the initiative to take over her job, just for the day.

"This meant nothing," she returned, dropping it. She returned to her desk calmly, nothing in her demeanour even hinting at what had happened no less than five moments ago. She sat in her chair, the expression on her face telling him to leave. "Goodbye, Weasley."

He opened his mouth to say something, and thought better of it when her hand shifted in the direction of her wand, which was lying beside her quill.

"G-goodbye, Parkinson," he mumbled.

When the door to Susan Bones' office opened and closed, Pansy Parkinson leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair and smiling only to herself.

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**A/N: Hope it wasn't too... OOC. I've tried to add on to what Pansy was feeling in Intoxicating - mostly with her red-hair-infatuation, and I hope Ron wasn't too un-Ron for it. Above all else, I hope this was a great read! :D Please review if you liked/hated/read it.**


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